by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 18, 2007 | Uncategorized
Today’s TV news brought pictures of 390 little bones buried near a hospital in Ratlam. Experts say they are the remains of babies. Today’s newspaper reported that there were thousands of missing children in our own Silicon valley a.k.a Bengaluru!
Post Nithari, the NHRC has asked for an update of missing children in UP. A website has been launched to keep track of missing children. Many questions come to mind and find no answers. The entire administrative setup seems to have forsaken the children of India in every way imaginable.
There are another little forsaken group of missing children, those that came for unknown reasons to seek shelter at the Baba Balnath Ashram since its inception in 1975. The present lot were rescued in early December 2006 though they too seem lost in complex administrative and judicial mazes. But what about all the others that transited this hell hole for 30 long years. Some should be almost middle aged women.
Will anyone give them a voice. What will it take to get civil society to ask these disturbing questions and seek answers so that they may get the justice they deserve? We have seen many a campaign in recent months that have brought closure to several cases. However these girls are invisible, yet they too are victims of the society we live in.
It is time to wake up and redeem ourselves if redemption there is!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 18, 2007 | Uncategorized
Anisha lies in a hospital bed. She dropped by pwhy yesterday morning and I was shocked to see her gasping breath. The forlorn parents told me that the hospital had refused to give a date as they had not deposited 4 units of blood and in spite of the fact that the 55 000 Rs required for her surgery had been paid more than a week back.
Knowing the attitude of the AAIMS’s blood bank that only wanted relatives as donors, I knew it was time to act. I told the mother to immediately take the child to the emergency room and that i would follow.
I mouthed a silent prayer to the God of lesser beings when I reached the hospital as any delay would have been fatal. Anisha lay under an oxygen bell while a nurse was desperately tyring to find a vein on the child’s emaciated body. Anisha weighs under 4 kilos at 9 months.
The family was desperate as they were told that there were no beds in AIIMS and the child may have to be taken to Safdurjung across the road. I told them to do what was said and had to resort to what works in India: contacts. After a long trudge and many misses I located a friend doctor in another department and asked him to intervene.
Now we wait with crossed fingers and bated breath for a little miracle: that of getting a bed and a date for the much needed life saving surgery.
I later googled for the meaning of Anisha: it means continuous…
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 17, 2007 | utpal
Tomorrow is Utpal’s PTA and once again his motley family will set out early in the morning to spend the day with him. This time it is Amit, Chanda Didi, Kiran Didi, Radhey and maam’ji who will form the party.
I am looking forward to the moment when his best pal Simran who is always on the look out for incoming parents will spot us and yell: Utpal tere parents aageye– Utpal your parents are here- never mind if the parents are a gang of 5 and not the conventional mom and dad duo.
He will appear slowly from somewhere and look at us shyly while we will assess the changes: his over oiled hair, his height and his tanned face, then his face will light up and he will run into our arms as we all start babbling together.
After the customary chat with his maam’s, we will set out to plan the day. While some of us will remain in school and laze on the lawns, Utpal will set off his little jaunt: a metro ride and a stop at a shop to get the forbidden goodies: pack of chips and a pepsi! But before that he will seek his kitchen bhaiyas for his daily feshment and ensure that there is one extra share for his maam’ji. It could be a paratha or a banana but to me they are nothing short of manna’s dew as they are laced with a very special kind of love.
Back from his little time off, it is time to play in the open and see the new antics, hear the new repertoire of songs and bask in moments of pure delight. Utpal will then set off to his kitchen pals to ask when luch will be laid and we will share his lunch in the big dining hall after joining in in the prayer led by forbidding Anil Sir.
The Sunday meal is rice and beans and can beat many a gourmet meal as we sit amidst the din and share this rare moment with a child who defeated every odd to be sitting with children from the other side of the fence as one of them.
As the lunch ends with the throwing of plates – Utpal’s way of defining plates sent down a chute to the kitchen – silence descends upon Utpal and his family as soon it will time to say goodbye, a time we dread. Sometimes he lets us go as he walks away without a glace back, and sometimes he clings to us and lets out heart wrenching cries.
The ride back is always in silence as we try to reconnect with ourselves after a day drenched with hope and love.
In two weeks Utpal will be spending his holi break with his mom and sister and though it will be painful not to having at home, it will be a huge step in a journey i began many years back: trying to once again thread the beads of a little family that had scattered in more ways than one.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 17, 2007 | Uncategorized
A middle aged woman pushing her vegetable cart in the chilly evening rain set me thinking about the life of an ordinary citizen in India’s capital city.
The heap of vegetables still lying unsold on her cart was proof that it had not been a good day. I wondered why she and not a man was pushing the cart. A widow maybe, or a woman abandoned for another. Who knows? She must got up long before the sun rose and gone to the wholesale market in spite of the torrential rain. Then she must have carefully arranged all her different vegetables on her cart ready to walk her beat calling out people to buy her goods.
Her mind may have gone back to times gone by where no gates existed in residential colonies and no permission and ID were needed, a time where smart shops did not sell vegetables in neat packets glowing under an artificial green light, a time where the local pheri wallah was the obvious option was the only viable option for many a housewife. But those days were gone… yet she carried on.
Our city is filled with such people who set out every morning to sell a plethora of goods and depend on the day’s income to feed their waiting family. We have many such people in our area, some even parents of pwhy children. I have seen many mothers sitting at the doorstep and waiting for the bread earner to come back so that she can set about cooking the evening meal, mouthing a silent prayer that he has not stopped by the watering hole.
These are brave ordinary Indians who left their homes in the hope of finding a better life in the city, and in the hope of carving out a better life for their children. They are your vegetable and fruit vendors, your corner cobbler, your scooter repair man, your street food vendor.. They are the likes of Nanhe’s mom whose family grows hungry when she sits by the side of her child in the hospital.
They are ordinary Indians who have created an invisible support system that we have gotten used to and depend on without quite knowing it. Just like us they have families to feed, children to educate, lives to run. Still embedded in the Indianness they keep many of our traditions and rites alive, those we have forgotten and forsaken.
Yet they disturb and are often as they are considered ungainly and not in sync with modern India. They are held responsible for polluting the city as we forgot about them in our planning and they just had to place themselves somehow and anyhow. And yet they were never pushed away as politicians looked at them as votes and promptly gave them voters ID cards thus making them legit.
While law makes and executors are trying to fix things in time for the nest election, these ordinary Indians are busy surviving one day at a time, not aware of the Damocles’s sword that hangs on their heads.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 16, 2007 | two indias
My daughter just called from Varanasi. She had gone there with some musician friends to spend Shivaratri. She is a person who spurns all rituals and is somewhat an agnostic. I had tried to share my experience of this holy city that I had visited many years back when I had fallen under its spell.
So imagine my dismay when she told me that the evening Arati on the banks of the Ganga was now sponsored by some five star hotel group and was a well orchestrated affair. In my now fading memory, the evening arati was a spontaneous affair where the dissonant chants of each priest lent a special flavour to the prayers. Every one lent their voices and hummed when words were forgotten. We each held on to our precious lamp waiting to let it sail on the water. The mood mas magic and spellbinding with each one lost in their own thoughts and prayers. Even when the arati ended it took some time before one reconnected and started moving again.
A sponsored prayer seemed anathema to me, robbing the sacred of its very essence. My mind went back to the recent hullabaloo about Valentine’s day. What would the protectors of our Indian identity say have to say about this.
I guess there are two ways in which we can look at such occurrences: one is that everything is acceptable as it brings extra income in a world that extols globalisation, the other is to try and draw some lines but then who bells the cat.
Perhaps there is a third one, and that is to go back to the very essence of our religion in its purest form and find the much needed sacredness within one’s self as in this world where money has assumed a hallowed place, everything is possible.
And maybe, next Valentine’s Day someone should wonder why it is Radha who sits in temples next to Krishna and not Rukmini his wedded spouse.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 16, 2007 | girl child
A recent post of mine which was a simple chapeau bas to true Indian led to a rabid diatribe on St V day and Indianess. The commentator says:.. this Indian identity includes, as an essential character, not celebrating a festival of the type that Valentines day really is.
I will not waste any one’s time in defending St V’s day but look at the deeper meaning of such a reaction which comes from an educated Indian. First of all I wonder whether an issue like V day deserves all the attention it gets, when there are so many ills that plague this country and need to be addressed by any self respecting Indian. To name just one we are a land where millions of children sleep hungry while thousands of others waste food.
It is sad to see that our politicians and law makers find time to waste their energy and time on such trivia where they could maybe for once forget their differences and address such basic issues like giving to every Indian child what was promised in our constitution.
Why can we not look at V day as one more day that will give the flower seller a few more rupees. And forget V day, over the years religious festivals too have been exploited – if that is the word one likes to chose – in a analogous manner. Many years ago rakhsa bhandhan or such festivals were celebrated without cards and fancy rakhis. I still remember when we use to make ours at home with a simple thread! Today everything is commercialised and there are even websites which allow you in-house pilgrimage and allow you to worship your God in the comfort of your home! So if there has to be a litany of protest let it be against everything that has been commercialised.
V day does not have to be simply viewed as a illicit boy-girl affair but can also be looked at as a day of acknowledging love in its wider form and that exactly what my post was about.
The Indians in India must retain their identity says the commentator and I agree. But our identity lies in celebrating our ability to accept and reach out, our ability to bridge the now frightening gap between the have and have nots, in our ability to celebrate tolerance and reach out to those in need.
Amit Bhaiyya did just that!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 15, 2007 | Uncategorized
The editor of a famous women’s magazine shared a touching experience where her attempts to rescue a street child had failed for want of a proper road map. Ms Fernandes concludes her piece by an appeal to set such road maps. A hurt street child is taken to the hospital and treated but once healed there is nowhere for him to go, but back to the same street as there are no safe options.
There are no road maps in India as we have experienced over the years at pwhy be it with children, women, handicapped persons or the elderly. Each problem has to be taken as a challenge and a road map created.
When we came to know about manoj’s mom, we set out to look for a solution. manoj had been born at home. but one look at the mom’s face and we knew she needed proper medical attention. Strangely when you start looking for something in earnest, you find them. We discovered a maternity hospital run by the municipality that was a pleasant surprise. It was clean, efficient and above all practically free.
Manoj’s mom now has a road map for the next 4 months: iron shots for 10 days, and strips of vitamins and minerals. She will be checked regularly and will deliver in a safe environment. But that is not where the matter ended. we needed to find a healthier room with light and air to receive the baby when it arrives. I guess that by now we had caught the attention of the god of lesser beings as we found a room close to where some of our creche teachers stay. We knew she would be safe and that were her husband to beat her, many would come to her rescue, and when it was time for the baby to come, little manoj would be looked after.
In India we cannot wait for the powers that be to create road maps. We need to craft them ourselves.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 15, 2007 | Uncategorized
Over the past seven years now one has been faced with innumerable questions that scream for answers. Questions about the abysmal state of environment awareness, about the total lack of information about policies and programmes, questions about how an ordinary ca citizen seek redressal.
Amidst the plethora of questions raised runs a common thread . There seems to be a total absence of responsibility as every one is looking at something or someone to bash, so if there is no water it is the fault of the government in power. What one forgets is that we are reponsible for electing them. We also forget that many of us still waste water. We also forget that the city is choking as wave after wave of migrants arrive each day.
But that is not all. Most of us, particularly our kind, find it infra dig to act: we often abstain from voting and are never ready to take the cudgels for any cause, leaving that to the other. This attitude being endemic what happens is that there is no one left to do the needful. A article on cleanliness that caught my eye recently explains this with conviction. The author seems to feel that if one targets children, maybe one can redress the situation.
Hence what is needed is to empower each and every child to dare ask his set of whys and assume responsibility for the wrongs. That is why we have decided to open a Right to Information desk at pwhy. We hope to be able to raise awareness about this incredible tool we possess and make each child aware of its potential.
A small step indeed, but one we hope will have a ripple effect so that one day humble citizens will shed their feudal attitudes and raise their voice.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 14, 2007 | girl child
Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it, says a quote. And yet everyone is talking about love today.
Markets are replete with hearts and flowers. Mobile networks are jammed as SMS’s are exchanged and love is in the air. The detractors are out too in the garb of religiosity having sadly forgotten that ours is the land where love has always been celebrated.
But love is not just a boy and girl affair as many may think. Love is the most beautiful gift man was given and is everywhere. I have found it in a child’s trusting eyes or a grubby hand proffering a half eaten sweetmeat. I have seen it in the eyes of a mother whose silent prayer has been answered, I have experienced it in the touch of the hand of a disabled child shunned by all.
Love is that fleeting moment when two spirits acknowledge each other is an invisible embrace, that unsaid work that remains stuck in the throat but reaches the eyes, that unshed tear that refuses to flow and moistens the eyes.
Love is everywhere, but needs you to look with your heart as it is often invisible to the eye.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 14, 2007 | girl child
When manoj’s mom came to us a year back carrying her tiny awkward child, we knew she was a woman in need of help so not only did we take her son in our creche, but gave her a part time job at home.
Madhu is a tiny chit of a woman with a strong spirit and she quickly adapted to our ways. A hardworking woman she went about her work quietly. We were shocked beyond words when we realised a couple of days back that she was 7 months pregnant. She has hid the fact too scared that she might lose her job.
Madhu slowly shared her story, and told us about the drunk husband that beat her with obsessive regularity, about how he threatened to throw her out if she got rid of the unborn child. She spoke about the numerous days when they went without food as the husband flittered his money at the watering hole, she told us about the windowless and airless room they lived. She said it all without bitterness or anger but with the strange fatalism that is the rule with many a woman in India. No she had not chosen this man but had been married off by her parents at the tender age of 16.
Madhu is resigned to her fate as she knows that she has no option. In a few weeks she will have another child who will feed on her already emaciated body. Her husband will beat her some more and she will bear it all as she has no options.
Women like Madhu are examples of the plight of the girl child who is seen to be a burden from the time she lands on this planet and is got rid off as soon as possible. And yet there is a spirit that lives in her tiny body one that will never get the chance to manifest itself.
Like many women Madhu will survive, that is the best our world has to offer.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 14, 2007 | okhla, two indias, utpal
Today being the much and over hyped St V’s day, I decided to give my acerbic pen a rest and write about love, albeit a different kind from the one flaunted at every corner!
This post is not about red roses and heart shaped cards, but about Amit Bhaiyya whose unwavering brand of love has infused many a moments at pwhy with a warm glow.
Amit is your regular boy next door, with an engineering degree and a smart job in a smart MNC. But that is where the comparison stops as Amit has something his peers do not normally have: a heart of gold!
He dropped by our forsaken planet about two years back quietly promising to help us. At that time we took his assurances with a pinch of salt as many had come , promised, and gone! But not Mr A. He slowly and unobtrusively crafted his space at project why and stayed on. What made him special was that he did it without the usual fanfare.
Today, two years down the line he teaches at our Okhla centre whenever he has time, has organised shows and even a fund raiser, and has given up many a Sundays to spend them with Utpal in his boarding school.
Just yesterday we needed blood for our little Nanhe and not knowing how to get it, we called dependable Mr A. Without much ado he took his lunchtime off and travelled in the rain to donate that unit of much needed blood.
His gentle smile and quiet ways has warmed the cockles of many a heart and to us he is precious. His brand of love is rare in today’s India as it transcends all social and other barriers so what better love than this to be celebrated on this day.
Happy St V’s!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 13, 2007 | ghaziabad girls, two indias
I had recently written about the professor Sabharwal case and the hostile witnesses. Actually it was just yesterday. I somehow knew that it would not be long before a campaign of sorts would be launched and civil society would be shaken for its slumber. Hence i was not surprised when on prime time TV a teaser was aired where Himanshu the son of the slain professor filled our space with the heart tugging words: I see my father die everyday.
The campaign was launched and it was now only a matter of time before justice would once again be restored.
My mind travelled back to a few months when the same channel had brought onto every home across the land the faces of 50 odd little girls who had suffered hell at the hands of a saintly abuser. That night civil society was outraged and many reacted, but somehow a gnawing feeling filled me as I saw how the local police stepped in ad protectors of the abuser and ensured that the case remain within their precinct. Then a few news items as the abuser appeared in court surrounded by his vociferous supporters, and then a deafening silence.
Months have passed and one wonders where the girls are? Months have passed and one wonders what has happened to the abuser? In spite of our efforts we were not able to break the silence. A small group was set up by some of us and we also made the news as bloggers for a cause. But at the end of the day we were left high and dry without any news of the outcome of the case.
If high profile cases get mishandled then the boggling of the ghaziabad ashram case is a sure reality. I remember the girls being petrified of the possible backlash if they dared speak out. Two of them had in fact escaped their tormentor and gone to the local cops. They were just bundled in a car and brought back to their hellhole.
True that they are under the care of the local administration, but in today’s India we all know for whom the bell tolls. These girls are somewhere alone and helpless. All those like us who made promised to them have failed them. They have no one to take up the cudgels on their behalf as they belong to the wrong side of India and unlike the Nithari kids they do not even have families. Some are mentally challenged, shildren of a lesser God who seems to have forsaken them.
I am at a loss and can only carry on writing about them in the hope tat someone will hear and reach out; I can only carry on writing about them so that they remain alive on some net page and not be forced into oblivion.
Let us not forget the indubitable fact that the abuser was carry on on his horrific game for over 30 years. Wonder where all the other girls are?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 12, 2007 | common school, lohars, two indias
Two young ladies age 6 and 11 visited project why last week. Their mom a high executive in the hospitality industry had brought them along as she felt it would be a good experience for them.
We went hopped from one part of pwhy to the other: from a building in a narrow lane, to a tiny shack in side a crowded slum, to the class in the garbage dump via the broken lohar camp to our smart computer centre.
The girls kept silent as they imbibed what they saw. As we bid good bye I could asked the younger one whether she would like to come and teach her peer group all the songs she learnt in her fancy school. her eyes lit up as she looked eagerly at her mom before nodding her head. Her elder sibling remained silent.
Later I asked my friend what the reactions of the girls had been and was not surprised when she told me that the little one was eager to come back while the older one had not said much barring the fact that it had made her sad.
Once again the two Indias were evident. The yet candid and unspoilt little one had immediately felt at ease and one with other kids her age as social and economic origins meant nothing to her, she was a child amongst other kids. The older one had more to deal with as she felt apart and different yet sensitive enough to feel sad!
Once again this vindicated my view of the necessity of a common school to bridge the now glaring gap between the two Indias.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 12, 2007 | two indias
A journalist from a leading western newspaper dropped by last week. She was researching an article on the impact of globalisation on the other side of India. She had visited some of the slum resettlement sites and expressed her indignation at the state of these rapidly set up spaces devoid of every basic need; water, schools, dispensaries etc. and wanted to know my views on the subject.
After she left I sat down for a long time trying to process what we had shared in those two hours and what I had experienced in the past years.
Globalisation has hit India. It is visible in the proliferation of swanky stores that sell everything you can dream of provided you face the money. I recall the days when one carefully made lists handed over to people who were going abroad. If I were to make a list today I wonder what it would contain.
Globalisation has hit India as is evident in the number of plastic pouches you see strewn on the streets of any slum: shampoos and shaving creams, detergent and hair conditioner, sauces and jams, coffee and you name it. A few years back the only pouches you saw were those of tobacco related ware.
Globalisation has hit India as foreign companies and MNCs realise the mind boggling size and buying power of this new market. To tap the size you need to flood the market with bite size goods at bite size prices, and as far as the other side of spectrum is concerned there is no limit.
Globalisation has hit India as is evident by the number of malls that are mushrooming everywhere: I even saw some being planned in lush fields that can only be reached today by a single track dirt road.
Globalisation has hit India as is seen in the multitude of gleaming bikes in slums and the variety of new cars in the now legendary traffic jams. Never mind if the bikes have been paid for by plastic money
Globalisation has hit India as is evident in the re-planning of this city where the planners in their hurry seem to have forgotten every rule in the book. An underpass imperils an age old heritage monument whereas a proposed games village threatens to choke an already dying river. And just today a building in a resettlement colony collapsed killing many people as its foundations had weakened following an unplanned and hurried demolition drive.
To many globalisation and liberalisation are welcome practices if India is to become a world class nation. But the way it is happening is wrought with dangers we may not be able to see at present. One of the most glaring effect seems to be on the increased gap between the two Indias where if one India is shining if not dazzling, the other is being pushed into further darkness. This may not be apparent to all, but our journalist did feel the need to add to every article she wrote on the shining India, a few words to temper the mood with references to the other India.
The writing is on the wall but we have lost the ability or sensitivity to see it. Plastic money that now inundates slums heralds the recovery nightmare and probable suicides. Pouches that strew slum lanes are slowly choking the city with apocalyptic consequences. The banning of street vendors, neighborhood trades and small shops will lead to increased unemployment and threaten the safety of the city. Slums relocated miles away will result in more kids being denied education and more people losing their livelihood.
Globalisation has hit India but unless we tailor it to our needs it may become a hydra headed monster difficult to tame. I recently met DK Matai ACTA is an initiative aimed at addressing these very challenges in a global way. But each one of us can and needs to address them too, and the least we can do is become aware of the flip side of the coin.
As I have written many times before, reaching out to the less privileged is no more an act of charity but an investment in the morrows of our children. One has to become sensitive to the reality that globalisation cannot be at any price.
I gall when I see the price tag attached to some of the items in luxury stores: a hand bag at 30K or ten months of salary at a minimum wage does not ring right. The urban poor cannot be wished away, they stand at our door step with the same dreams as ours.
Globalisation yes, but not at any price!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 8, 2007 | Uncategorized
One will spend life in jail, the other is waiting for the gallows. They both thought that their political connections could give them licence to kill and get away with murder. But they did not. Public opinion ensured that and Jessica Lal and Priyadarshini Matoo got justice at last.
In September a professor was killed in front of hundred of people. Only 4 came forward and I remember writing about one of the them as in him one saw hope as he stood by what he believed was right. In the TV interview aired then he did mention his fears. At that time he was given police protection and we all hoped against hope that he would testify.
Yesterday all the four witnesses turned hostile, including Komal Singh Senger. Today the key accused moved the High Court for bail. In five months the powers that be had fixed every thing.
Original video tapes were doctored, and the prosecution’s case was full of glaring lapses. Now the family’s only hope is that the case is handed over to the CBI.
It all looks like a repeat of the previous cases.
Though many may blame the four witnesses there are a few questions that come to mind. Here again it was a murder that took place in a crowd that had professors, students, political leaders and many others, yet the witnesses were all simple peons. Wonder what happened to all the others. In September footage of the beating was aired over and over again by all channels. The final footage shown during proceedings omitted crucial scenes. Witnesses who should have been protected were left to their own devices and at the mercy of political goons. Wonder what threats or lollies were proffered.
The family has given up hope. Will public opinion rise again and see that justice is done. Seems a sad reflection of the reality we live in if in every single case justice will depend on whether the media will start a campaign or not.
Where is ou collective conscience gone? Don’t we realise that this can happen to one of us?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 7, 2007 | Uncategorized
Many years back, when the first fast food outlet opened in Delhi – I think it was a pizza something – I told many friends that they would never be able to compete with our own desi brand of fast foods: the zingy chats, piping hot samosas, delectable and sinful poories and melting hot jalebis -. Ask any LSR student of yore years about the gooey peas chat – mattar chat -and you will be treated to a Proustian expression. And how can we forget the oily but scrumptious bun omelet that has satiated many a hungry student.
Street food has been a tradition in Delhi, one that has withstood the test of time. An interesting outcome of globalisation is this tradition as now you can have chowmein, and momos and swharma at any street corner in India’s capital city. Just a few years back one had to make a trip to Delhi Haat to have a plate of momos, now we just walk down the street from our Govindpuri centre and get them.
This is post is not a trip down memory lane, neither is it a gastronomic review. It is an appeal to the powers that be not to take away the soul of our city and leave us rudderless as today’s papers rung the death knell of one of the oldest institutions of this city.
Street food is the grand old tradition in Delhi from the times when Kkhomchewallahs (street vendors) used to come to one’s doorstep to sell all kinds of snacks, chaats, ice creams, sweets and more. And yet the Supreme Court has decreed their demise. With a stroke of the pen our highest judicial body has wiped away an age old way of life. The erstwhile street vendors are now to be replaced by pre packed food. Just imagining a cold chola bhatura makes me lose my appetite.
True that hygiene is sometimes not quite up to the mark, but it is also the case in outlets that run from kiosks. Those who have been to Nehru Place must have seen how food outlets operate even though they run from supposedly legal spaces. Somehow the planners forgot simple things like water points!
But there is also a grimmer side to this decision. If street vendors are not allowed to operate many people will lose their jobs and many families will sleep hungry. On the other hand the popularity of these vendors is visible and one wonders where the people who eat there will go.
Just down our gali is a man who sells hot poories and lovely potato subzi. A plate of 5 poories, subzi and a bit of curd comes for 6 rs. Every morning as we drive by the smell of the poories is enticing. The place is crowded with young office goers who have no families, workers, auto richshaw drivers and others busy gobbling their hot morning breakfast. I must confess that I too have succumbed to the temptation and partaken of the treat many times.
The decision to have these vendors only sell food cooked at home and wrapped in some plastic container is the pits. Once again we have been struck by the now sated option that our administrators have made theirs: rather than face problems and find solutions, pass them on or do away with the problem altogether.
In the frenzied rush to make Delhi another Singapore or Shanghai, one cannot forget the millions who serve this city and ensure it runs. One cannot wish away people and institutions that have survived many a storm. They have to remain as they give the city an identity. Imagine Paris without roasted chestnuts, or Singapore without the morning soup vendors. What needs to be done is ensure stringent regulations, subject vendors to rigorous testing and give them assigned space. But do not subject us to cold samosas or pre-packed chat! Our desi fast food can compete with any burger giant if it is allowed to survive!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 5, 2007 | Uncategorized
I cannot remember when I last stepped off the whirling world to take a breath and muse over days gone by. Life went on at a frenzied pace and there never seemed to be time to take a pause and cast the much needed critical look.
One may wonder what set off these musings. Simply an empty inbox on my screen.
For the first time in many years did I wake up to an unread (0) status on my email. This triggered a series of questions in my mind and to answer them I realised that one had to take a pause and look back.
The past year has been a rewarding one, when many obstacles were cleared and life set on an even keel. It was a year when many little broken hearts got fixed, when a little boy and his mom were rescued from a life of hell. It was also a year when pwhy took on a new role and reached out to free little girls from the hands of their abuser, a year when a little boy defeated all medical rules and sprung back to life. It was also a year when new friends came forward to support us; a year when we even got our own little building and began a new centre. A year to be celebrated and feted.
It is true that many of the things mentioned above were already being done but the difference this time is that it all came easy. I remember with a tinge of regret the days when every new programme was a challenge. I remember with nostalgia how every tiny need entailed hordes of emailing and was gathered painstakingly cent by cent. I also recall the abundance of mails of support one got and the immense positive energy generated, the thrill one felt when someone committed some support however infinitesimal.
And today an empty mailbox that speaks volumes. Am I being once again faced with a new avatar of the dreaded comfort zone syndrome. Maybe. But this is one I need to fight to the hilt as it may sound the death knell of the very essence of pwhy.
Pwhy could only happen because so many people across the globe came together and infused it with life. Pwhy could succeed because of the immense support I got each and every time I sought it. And no matter how easy seeking funds becomes, pwy can exist if and only if it continues to get the love and goodwill of people.
There can no more be empty inboxes as money alone can never sustain pwhy. After all pwhy is just a simple love story.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Feb 4, 2007 | Uncategorized
I have always hoped that some day we will have lots of little primary extensions so that more and more children remain in school. And it has been my dream to do this by drawing all resources from the community.
Our little Nehru Nagar class is a step in that direction as the classroom is a jhuggi in which people live. As they are out the whole day they leave us their home, bed and all. Sophiya and Satish tuck themselves and their pupils wherever they can and classes go on in earnest.
From the very moment we began, I knew that if we were to make a difference, we had to create a model wherein all resources came from within. The last seven years has vindicated this view as both space and teachers are in-house. But we are still dependent on outside help for the funds needed to run.
The solution of course lies in our ability to market our one rupee a day dream in the right packaging to my peers and my pwhy parents.
We are slowly getting there with baby steps and hope written large!
